The Roman Traitor, Vol. 2

by Henry William Herbert

  CHAPTER VI.

  THE FLIGHT.

  Abiit, excessit, evasit, erupit. CICERO.

  His heart was a living hell, as he rushed homeward. Cut off on every side,detected, contemned, hated, what was left to the Traitor?

  To retrace his steps was impossible,—nor, if possible, would hisindomitable pride have consented to surrender his ambitious schemes, hishopes of vengeance.

  He rushed homeward; struck down a slave, who asked him some officiousquestion; spurned Orestilla out of his way with a bitter earnest curse;barred himself up in his inmost chamber, and remained there alone onehour.

  One hour; but in that hour what years, what ages of time, what an eternityof agony, was concentrated!

  For once in many years he sat still, motionless, silent, while thoughtsucceeded thought, and passion passion, with indescribable rapidity andvividness.

  In that one hour all the deeds of his life passed before him, from hiswild and reckless boyhood to his atrocious and dishonored manhood.

  The victims of his fiendish passions seemed to fleet, one by one, beforehis eyes, with deathlike visages and ghastly menace.

  The noble virgin, whom he had first dishonored, scarcely as yet a boy,pointed with bloody fingers to the deep self-inflicted wound, which yawnedin her snowy bosom.

  The vestal, who had broken through all bounds of virtue, piety, and honor,sacrificed soul and body to his unpitying lust, gazed at him with thatunearthly terror in her eyes, which glared from them as they looked theirlast at earth and heaven, when she descended, young and lovely, into aliving grave.

  The son, whom he had poisoned, to render his house vacant for unhallowednuptials, with his whole frame convulsed in agony, and the sardonic grinof death on his writhing lips, frowned on him.

  His brother, who had drawn life from the same soft bosom, but whosekindred blood had pleaded vainly against the fratricidal dagger, frownedon him.

  His sister’s husband, that mild and blameless knight, whose last breathwas spent in words of peace and pardon to his slayer, now frowned on him.

  The stern impassive face of Marius Gratidianus, unmoved alike by agony orinsult, frowned on him, in the serene dignity of sustaining virtue.

  Men of all ranks and ages, done to death by his hand or his head, bypoison, by the knife, by drowning, by starvation—women deceived orviolated, and then murdered, while their kisses were yet warm on hislips—infants tortured to death in the very wantonness of cruelty, andcrime that must have been nigh akin to madness, gibbered, and glared uponhim.

  These things would seem impossible, they are in truth incredible, but theyare true beyond the possibility of cavil.

  He was indeed one of those unaccountable and extraordinary monsters, who,thanks to nature! appear but once in many ages, to whom sin is dear forits own naked self, to whom butchery(8) is a pastime, and blood andagonies and tears a pleasurable excitement to their mad morbid appetites.

  And in this hour of downfall, one by one, did his fancy conjure up beforehim the victims of his merciless love, his merciless hatred—both alike,sure and deadly.

  It was a strange combination of mind, for there must have been in thespirit that evoked these phantoms of the conscience, something of remorse,if not of repentance. Pale, ghastly, grim, reproachful, they all seemed tohim to be appealing to the just heavens for justice and revenge. Yet therewas even more of triumph and proud self-gratulation in his mood, than ofremorse for the past, or of apprehension for the future.

  As he thought of each, as he thought of all, he in some sort gloated overthe memory of his success, in some sort derived confidence from the verynumber of his unpunished crimes.

  "They crossed me," he muttered to himself, "and where are they?—My fatecried out for their lives, and their lives were forfeit. Who ever stood inmy path, that has not perished from before my face? Not one! Who everstrove with me, that has not fallen? who ever frowned upon me, that hasnot expiated the bended brow by the death-grin?—Not one! not one! Scores,hundreds, have died for thwarting me! but who of men has lived to boast ofit!—Not one!"

  He rose from his seat, stalked slowly across the room, drew his handacross his brow twice, with a thoughtful gesture, and then said,

  "Cicero! Cicero! Better thou never hadst been born! Better—but it mustbe—my Fate, my fate demands it, and neither eloquence nor wisdom, virtuenor valor, shall avail to save thee. These were brave, beautiful, wise,pious, eloquent; and what availed it to them? My Fate, my fate shallprevail! To recede is to perish, is to be scorned—to advance is to win—towin universal empire," and he stretched out his hand, as if he clutched animaginary globe—"to win fame, honor, the applause of ages—for with thepeople—the _dear_ people—failure alone and poverty are guilt—success, bycraft or crime, success is piety and virtue!—On! Catiline! thy path isonward still, upward, and onward! But not here!"

  Then he unbarred the door, "What ho, Chærea!" and prompt, at the word, thefreedman entered. "Send out my trustiest slaves, summon me hitherinstantly Lentulus and the rest of those, who supped here on the Calends.Ha! the Calends." He repeated the word, as if some new idea had struckhim, on the mention of that day, and he paused thoughtfully. "Aye! PaullusArvina! I had well nigh forgotten—I have it; Aulus is the man; he hathsome private grudge at him! and beside those," he added, again addressingthe freedman, "go thyself and bring Aulus Fulvius hither, the son of theSenator—him thou wilt find with Cethegus, the others at the house ofDecius Brutus, near the forum. They dine with Sempronia. Get thee gone,and beshrew thy life! tarry not, or thou diest!"

  The man quitted the room in haste; and Catiline continued muttering tohimself—"Aye! but for that cursed boy, we should have had Præneste on theCalends! He shall repent it, ere he die, and he shall die too; but notyet—not till he is aweary of his very life, and then, by tortures thatshall make the most weary life a boon. I have it all, the method, and themen! Weak fool, thou better hadst been mine."

  Then turning to the table he sat down, and wrote many letters, addressedto men of Consular dignity, persons of worth and honor, declaring that,borne down on all sides by false accusations, and helpless to oppose thefaction of his enemies, he yielded to the spite of fortune, and wasdeparting for Marseilles a voluntary exile, not conscious of any crime,but careful of the tranquillity of the republic, and anxious that nostrife should arise from his private griefs.

  To one, who afterward, almost deceived by his profound and wonderfuldissimulation, read it aloud in the Senate, in proof that no civil war wasimpending, he wrote:

  "Lucius Catiline to Quintus Catulus, sends health. Your most distinguishedfaith, known by experience, gives me in mighty perils a gratefulconfidence, thus to address you. Since I have resolved to prepare nodefence in the new steps which I have taken, I am resolved to set forth myapology, conscious to myself of no crime, which—So may the God of Honorguard me!—you may rely upon as true. Goaded by injury and insult, robbedof the guerdon of my toils and industry, that state of dignity at which Iaimed, I publicly have undertaken, according to my wont, the cause of theunhappy and oppressed; not because I am unable to pay all debts contractedon my own account, from my own property—from those incurred in behalf ofothers, the generosity of Orestilla and her daughter, by their treasures,would have released me—but because I saw men honored who deserve no honor,and felt myself disgraced, on false suspicion. On this plea, I now takemeasures, honorable in my circumstances, for preserving that dignity whichyet remains to me. I would have written more, but I learn that violence isabout to be offered me. Now I commend to you Orestilla, and trust her toyour faith. As you love your own children, shield her from injury.Farewell."

  This strange letter, intended, as after events evidently proved, to bear adouble sense, he had scarce sealed, when Aulus Fulvius was announced.

  For a few moments after he entered, Catiline continued writing; thenhanding Chærea, who at a sign had remained in waiting, a list of manynames, "Let them," he said, "be here, prepared for a journ
ey, and in armsat the fifth hour. Prepare a banquet of the richest, ample for all these,in the Atrium; in the garden Triclinium, a feast for ten—the rarest meats,the choicest wines, the delicatest perfumes, the fairest slave-girls inmost voluptuous attire. At the third hour! See to it! Get thee hence!"

  The freedman bowed low, and departed on his mission; then turning to theyoung patrician,

  "I have sent for you," he said, "the first, noble Aulus, because I holdyou the first in honor, bravery, and action; because I believe that youwill serve me truly, and to the utmost. Am I deceived?"

  "Catiline, you have judged aright."

  "And that you cannot serve me, more gratefully to yourself, than inavenging me on that young pedant, Paullus Arvina."

  The eyes of the youthful profligate flashed dark fire, and his whole facebeamed with intense satisfaction.

  "By all the Powers of Tartarus!" he cried, "Show me but how, and I willhunt him to the gates of Hades!"

  Catiline nodded to him, with an approving smile, and after looking aroundhim warily for a minute, as if fearful even of the walls’ overhearing him,he stepped close up to him, and whispered in his ear, for several moments.

  "Do you conceive me, ha?" he said aloud, when he had ended.

  "Excellent well!" cried the other in rapturous triumph, "but how gain anopportunity?"

  "Look you, here is his signature, some trivial note or other, I kept it,judging that one day it might serve a purpose. You can write, I know, verycleverly—I have not forgotten Old Alimentus’ will—write to her in hisname, requesting her to visit him, with Hortensia, otherwise she willdoubt the letter. Then you can meet her, and do as I have told you. Willnot that pass, my Fulvius?"

  "It _shall_ pass," answered the young man confidently. "My life on it!Rely on me!"

  "I hold it done already," returned Catiline, "But you comprehendall—unstained, in all honor, until she reach me; else were the vengeanceincomplete."

  "It shall be so. But when?"

  "When best you can accomplish it. This night, I leave the city."

  "You leave the city!"

  "This night! at the sixth hour!"

  "But to return, Catiline?"

  "To return with a victorious, an avenging army! To return as destroyer!with a sword sharper than that of mighty Sylla, a torch hotter than thatof the mad Ephesian! To return, Aulus, in such guise, that ashes and bloodonly show where Rome—_was_!"

  "But, ere that, I must join you?"

  "Aye! In the Appenines, at the camp of Caius Manlius"

  "Fear me not. The deed is accomplished—hatred and vengeance, joined toresolve, never fail."

  "Never! but lo, here come the rest. Not a word to one of these. The burlysword-smith is your man, and his fellows! Strike suddenly, and soon; and,till you strike, be silent. Ha! Lentulus, Cethegus, good friendsall—welcome, welcome!" he cried, as they entered, eight in number, theringleaders of the atrocious plot, grasping each by the hand. "I havecalled you to a council, a banquet, and, thence to action!"

  "Good things all," answered Lentulus, "so that the first be brief andbold, the second long and loud, the last daring and decisive!"

  "They shall be so, all three! Listen. This very night, I set forth to joinCaius Manlius in his camp. Things work not here as I would have them; mypresence keeps alive suspicion, terror, watchfulness. I absent, securitywill grow apace, and from that boldness, and from boldness, rashness! Sowill you find that opportunity, which dread of me, while present, delaysfatally. Watch your time; choose your men; augment, by any means, thepowers of our faction; gain over friends; get rid of enemies, secretly ifyou can; if not, audaciously. Destroy the Consul—you will soon findoccasion, or, if not find, make it. Be ready with the blade and brand, toburn and to slaughter, so soon as my trumpets shall sound havoc from thehills of Fiesolè. Metellus and his men, will be sent after me with speed;Marcius Rex will be ordered from the city, with his cohorts, to Capua, orApulia, or the Picene district; for in all these, the slaves will rise, sosoon as my Eagle soars above the Appenine. The heart of the city will thenlie open to your daggers."

  "And they shall pierce it to the core," cried Cethegus.

  "Wisely you have resolved, my Catiline, as ever," said Longinus Cassius."Go, and success sit upon your banners!"

  "Be not thou over slow, my Cassius, nor thou, Cethegus, over daring.Temper each one, the metal of the other. Let your counsels be, as thegathering of the storm-clouds, certain and slow; your deeds, as thethunderbolt, rash, rapid, irresistible!"

  "How will you go forth, Catiline? Alone? in secret?" asked Autronius.

  "No! by the Father of Quirinus! with my casque on my head, and mybroad-sword on my thigh, and with three hundred of my clients at my back!They sup in my Atrium, at the fifth hour of the night, and at the sixth,we mount our horses. I _think_ Cicero will not bar our passage."

  "By Mars! he would beat the gates down rather, to let you forth the moreeasily."

  "If he be wise he would."

  "He _is_ wise," said Catiline. "Would God that he were less so."

  "To be overwise, is worse, sometimes, than to be foolish," answeredCethegus.

  "And to be over bold, worse than to be a coward!" said Catiline."Therefore, Cethegus, be thou neither. Now, my friends, I do not say leaveme, but excuse me, until the third hour, when we will banquet. Nay! go notforth from the house, I pray you; it may arouse suspicion, which I wouldhave you shun. There are books in the library, for who would read; foilsin the garden, balls in the fives-court, for who would breathe themselvesbefore supper; and lastly, there are some fair slaves in the women’schamber, for who would listen to the lute, or kiss soft lips, and notunwilling. I have still many things to do, ere I depart."

  "And those done, a farewell caress to Orestilla," said Cethegus, laughing.

  "Aye! would I could take her with me."

  "Do you doubt her, then, that you fear to leave her?"

  "If I doubted, I would _not_ leave her—or I would leave her _so_, as notto doubt her. Alexion himself, cannot in general cure the people, whom Idoubt."

  "I hope you never will doubt me," said Curius, who was present, the Judasof the faction, endeavoring to jest; yet more than half feeling what hesaid.

  "I hope not"—replied Catiline, with a strange fixed glance, and a singularsmile; for he did in truth, at that very moment, half doubt the speaker."If I do, Curius, it will not be for long! But I must go," he added, "andmake ready. Amuse yourselves as best you can, till I return to you. Come,Aulus Fulvius, I must speak with you farther."

  And, with the words, he left them, not indeed to apply themselves to anysport or pleasure, but to converse anxiously, eagerly, almost fearfully,on the events which were passing in succession, so rapid, and sounforeseen. Their souls were too much absorbed by one dominant idea, onedevouring passion, to find any interest in any small or casual excitement.

  To spirits so absorbed, hours fly like minutes, and none of those guiltymen were aware of the lapse of time, until Catiline returned, dressed in asuit of splendid armor, of blue Iberian steel, embossed with studs andchasings of pure silver, with a rich scarlet sagum over it, fringed withdeep lace. His knees were bare, but his legs were defended by greaves ofthe same fabric and material with his corslet; and a slave bore behind himhis bright helmet, triply crested with crimson horsehair, his oblongshield charged with a silver thunderbolt, and his short broad-sword ofBilboa steel, which was already in those days, as famous as in the middleages. He looked, indeed, every inch a captain; and if undaunted valor,unbounded energy, commanding intellect, an eye of lightning, unequalledself-possession, endless resource, incomparable endurance of cold, heat,hunger, toil, watchfulness, and extremity of pain, be qualities whichconstitute one, then was he a great Captain.

  A captain well formed to lead a host of demons.

  The banquet followed, with all that could gratify the eye, the ear, thenostril, or the palate. The board blazed with lights, redoubled by theglare of gold and crystal. Flowers, perfumes, incense, stream
ed over all,till the whole atmosphere was charged with voluptuous sweetness. Thesoftest music breathed from the instruments of concealed performers. Therarest wines flowed like water. And flashing eyes, and wreathed smiles,and bare arms, and bare bosoms, and most voluptuous forms, decked toinflame the senses of the coldest, were prodigal of charms and softabandonment.

  No modest pen may describe the orgies that ensued,—the drunkenness, thelust, the frantic mirth, the unnatural mad revelry. There was but one atthat banquet, who, although he drank more deeply, rioted more sensually,laughed more loudly, sang more wildly, than any of the guests, was yet ascool amid that terrible scene of excitement, as in the council chamber, ason the battle field.

  His sallow face flushed not; his hard clear eye swam not languidly, nordanced with intoxication; his voice quivered not; his pulse was as slow,as even as its wont. That man’s frame, like his soul, was of treblytempered steel.

  Had Catiline not been the worst, he had been the greatest of Romans.

  But his race in Rome was now nearly ended. The water-clocks announced thefifth hour; and leaving the more private triclinium, in which theringleaders alone had feasted, followed by his guests,—who were flushed,reeling, and half frenzied,—with a steady step, a cold eye, and a presencelike that of Mars himself, the Arch Traitor entered the great open hall,wherein three hundred of his clients, armed sumptuously in the style oflegionary horsemen, had banqueted magnificently, though they had stoppedshort of the verge of excess.

  All rose to their feet, as Catiline entered, hushed in dread expectation.

  He stood for one moment, gazing on his adherents, tried veterans every manof them, case-hardened in the furnace of Sylla’s fiery discipline, withproud confidence and triumph in his eye; and then addressed them in clearhigh tones, piercing as those of an adamantine trumpet.

  "Since," he said, "it is permitted to us neither to live in Rome securely,nor to die in Rome honorably, I go forth—will you follow me?"

  And, with an unanimous cry, as it had been the voice of one man, theyanswered,

  "To the death, Catiline!"

  "I go forth, harming no one, hating no one, fearing no one! Guiltless ofall, but of loving the people! Goaded to ruin by the proud patricians,injured, insulted, well nigh maddened, I go forth to seek, not power norrevenge, but innocence and safety. If they will leave me peace, the lambshall be less gentle; if they will drive me into war, the famished lionshall be tamer. Soldiers of Sylla, will you have Sylla’s friend in peacefor your guardian, in war for your captain?"

  And again, in one tumultuous shout, they replied, "In peace, or in war,through life, and unto death, Catiline!"

  "Behold, then, your Eagle!"—and, with the word, he snatched from a marbleslab on which it lay, covered by tapestry, the silver bird of Mars,hovering with expanded wings over a bannered staff, and brandished it onhigh, in triumph. "Behold your standard, your omen, and your God! Swear,that it shall shine yet again above Rome’s Capitol!"

  Every sword flashed from its scabbard, every knee was bent; and kneeling,with the bright blades all pointed like concentric sunbeams toward thatbloody idol, in deep emotion, and deep awe, they swore to be true to theEagle, traitors to Rome, parricides to their country.

  "One cup of wine, and then to horse, and to glory!"

  The goblets were brimmed with the liquid madness; they were quaffed to thevery dregs; they clanged empty upon the marble floor.

  Ten minutes more, and the hall was deserted; and mounted on proud horses,brought suddenly together, by a perfect combination of time and place,with the broad steel heads of their javelins sparkling in the moonbeams,and the renowned eagle poised with bright wings above them, the escort ofthe Roman Traitor rode through the city streets, at midnight, audacious,in full military pomp, in ordered files, with a cavalry clarion timingtheir steady march—rode unresisted through the city gates, under the eyesof a Roman cohort, to try the fortunes of civil war in the provinces,frustrate of massacre and conflagration in the capitol.

  Cicero knew it, and rejoiced; and when he cried aloud on the followingday, "ABIIT, EXCESSIT, EVASIT, ERUPIT—He hath departed, he hath stolenout, he hath gone from among us, he hath burst forth into war"—his greatheart thrilled, and his voice quivered, with prophetic joy and conscioustriumph. He felt even then that he had "SAVED HIS COUNTRY."